The rain had dampened Snow's fur, soaking her from the sudden drizzle that had begun as they left the dusty jungle. As she perched on Menma's shoulder, she shivered slightly, feeling the cool droplets mix with the warmth of his body. The jungle had been a place she neither liked nor understood. The thick brush had scratched at her fur, and the dampness of the air left a clinging discomfort. But her big cat had been so determined to find something there, and so, despite her reluctance, she had followed him.
And he had found it—a photo.
A dusty, worn-out photograph, the edges curling with age. Snow had watched him study it with an intensity she hadn't seen before. Her tail twitched with curiosity, but there was something about the moment that felt different. Normally, when they found something important, Menma would shower her with affection, kissing her head again and again, rubbing her ears until she purred in delight. But today… no pats, no kisses, no warmth.
Did he… not love her anymore?
She nuzzled his neck, but he didn't respond. The ache in her chest grew, a tight knot she couldn't undo. Why was he acting like this? Why wasn't he the same? She didn't understand. She could feel her heart crack a little as she pulled back to look at him. His face was drawn, his eyes distant, as if she didn't matter. And that small, gnawing fear started to settle in her gut.
She wanted to cry, but she didn't let him see.
When he left the jungle without acknowledging her, the emptiness she felt grew louder in her mind. It echoed with every step they took as the rain began to fall heavier, soaking the pair as they walked in silence. In the past, Menma would have pulled her into his arms, sheltering her from the rain, keeping her warm. But this time, he didn't even glance at her. He didn't seem to care.
Snow's paws, once light and graceful, now felt heavy. She pushed against his face with her paw, trying to get him to notice her, but he didn't even flinch. She could feel the wetness of her fur against her body, the cold biting through her, but the chill she felt was nothing compared to the cold creeping into her heart. The salty drops of water that fell from her face mingled with the rain as she silently sobbed, her breath hitching, but still, he didn't see her pain.
The house was quiet when they entered. The warmth of their big home should have been comforting, but it wasn't. It felt hollow. She followed him through the dark corridors, her paws silent against the cool stone floors, a sense of dread creeping into her bones. They moved from room to room, checking corners, the shadows of their house more oppressive than they'd ever been before. She was searching for something familiar, something that would make everything feel right again.
But it didn't come.
The lights burned brightly overhead, and Snow flinched away from them. She hated the lights, they had burned her before. She remembered the fire—Menma had always been there to comfort her then, but not now. He didn't reach for her. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. He had never ignored her before, never left her alone in the cold darkness. But this time, he did.
Meow!
Her voice, soft and plaintive, barely broke the silence, but she called anyway. She padded to their harem, the familiar room where they spent so many nights together, hoping to find comfort in the scent of their home. But as she was halfway to the stairs, she heard it. The soft click of a door locking.
The sound felt like a physical blow to her.
She rushed to the door, claws scrabbling desperately, but Menma didn't come back. He had locked her out. Left her alone.
No!
Her cries echoed in the empty halls as she searched for him. Her heart raced, her breath quickening in panic. She had never been alone in their home before. Her instincts screamed at her to find him, but there were no gaps, no openings to follow him through.
She was lost.
She stumbled into the royal shower room, the door ajar. Something inside her flickered—she remembered now—the window was open.
She could reach it. She had to.
With desperation driving her, she jumped. Once, twice, again. Her paws reached for the ledge but fell short each time. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as the realization hit. She couldn't do it.
But she had to.
Finally, gathering every last bit of her strength, she jumped again, her claws scraping the edge. She reached it. With one final, agonizing stretch, she pulled herself up. Her heart hammered in her chest as she made it through the window, her body trembling with exhaustion, but she didn't care.
She was coming for him. She was coming for her cat.
The rain had turned heavier, and Snow felt the mud cling to her fur as she bounded through the kingdom's gates. She could smell his scent. It was faint but unmistakable.
Her steps were quick, her heart pounding. She needed him. She could feel the cold seep into her bones, the wetness of the earth beneath her paws making her slip and slide, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.
Meow... She called again, her voice thin and cracked.
The wind picked up, making her shiver. She was dirty, her fur heavy with the weight of the rain. The smell of Menma was almost gone, the rain washing it away, and that's when it hit her.
She couldn't smell him anymore.
Her heart stopped.
Her cries grew louder, raw with grief. She had lost him, lost him just like her mother had lost her. Alone again.
Meow…
The tear that had been gathering in her golden eyes finally broke free, trailing down her cheek. The rain mingled with her sorrow as she stumbled through the darkening world, the echo of her cries swallowed by the storm.
She continued to run, blindly, desperately, until—
Laughter.
Music.
It was coming from ahead. Her ears perked, and for a fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope sparked in her chest. Could it be…?
Was he there? Could her cat really be there?
She was close now. So close.
---
Kakashi leaned silently against the far wall of the grand hall, half-shadowed by a pillar, arms crossed as he watched the flickering lights dance across the polished floors. The room was bright, filled with laughter and color. The sound of children playing echoed, music streamed from ornate speakers, and servants hurried back and forth with polished trays, their movements efficient, practiced.
But none of it reached him.
He couldn't feel the celebration.
The party was for Naruto. A massive birthday ceremony wrapped in ribbons and smiles—cheerful and grand, but hollow beneath the surface. Kakashi's stomach churned with unease.
Just hours earlier, negotiations with foreign envoys had dragged on, stretching into the afternoon, stealing every minute he could have spent where he was needed most. They hadn't even had the chance to open Menma's food boxes—the ones lovingly packed, each container filled with tiny portions meant to be shared.
They had planned to eat them together.
Just the three of them.
Instead, they were here. Dressed in formal wear, their roles scripted, forced to smile for the politics and play happy villagers for a peace that felt too brittle to believe in.
Kakashi glanced across the room toward Naruto. Surrounded by well-wishers, he laughed as the cake was being cut, his smile genuine, his happiness radiant.
But when Kakashi looked at him… he didn't see just Naruto.
He saw the contrast.
Two children.
Same age.
Same bloodline.
Same parents.
Yet two entirely different fates.
One bathed in praise and love.
The other cast in shadow.
Kakashi's chest tightened.
He couldn't stop thinking about Menma. The boy was sharp, perhaps too sharp—like a blade that had been forged under the wrong fire. He connected thoughts too quickly, pierced through lies with eyes too honest for a child his age. He didn't just think outside the box. He thought outside the entire framework. Sometimes, it frightened even Kakashi.
Menma wasn't just strong. He was unpredictable.
A soul like that, if pushed too far… could crack the sky open.
Where is he now? Kakashi wondered.
His thoughts were broken by a sudden stir among the guests. There was a ripple in the room, a disturbance sharp enough to cut through the festive atmosphere.
Cries of surprise.
Gasps.
Squeals.
Panic?
Kakashi straightened immediately.
He stepped out from the shadows and pushed through the crowd, eyes scanning for the source. His instincts were already buzzing when he saw it—on the far side, near the main table—
A cat.
Small.
Soaked.
Matted with mud.
She stood at the center of the chaos, hissing viciously at Naruto, her fur bristled like tiny lightning bolts.
Snow.
Kakashi blinked. No... it can't be—
She was filthy. Cold. Trembling. Her eyes darted around the room, feral with panic, and every time someone tried to get close, she hissed, ready to claw. The music faltered, awkward laughter turning into murmurs of confusion.
Kakashi moved before anyone else could.
He crossed the room with purpose, ignoring the curious stares and noble whispers. As he approached, Snow caught sight of him—and in the next instant, leapt into his arms.
Thump.
Her wet body hit his chest, soaking the front of his crisp formal jacket. But he didn't care. She clung to him desperately, meowing nonstop, her claws gently gripping the fabric, her entire body shaking with exhaustion and fear.
He stared at her, stunned.
"...Snow?" he whispered, uncertain.
Meowww!
It was her.
It was really her.
His heart stopped for half a second.
If Snow was here—
Where was Menma?
Kakashi's blood turned to ice.
Snow was Menma's heart. His entire soul. His anchor. The one creature he would never leave behind willingly.
And seeing her like this—cold, wet, and alone—meant only one thing.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
Without another word, he turned and strode through the crowd, gripping Snow protectively. Naruto called out in confusion. Others looked on, puzzled. But Kakashi didn't stop.
He made eye contact with Phantom and Raven across the room.
A single nod.
They understood immediately. The two vanished into the crowd, activating secure communication seals and alerting the ANBU.
Yoruusagi, just returning from a conversation with the Uchiha Patriarch, spotted the cat in his arms. Her eyes widened.
"Snow? Kakashi, tell me—don't tell me that's our Snow?"
He nodded grimly. "It's her."
Yoruusagi's breath caught. Her face paled.
"Then where is Menma?" she whispered, already knowing the answer.
Kakashi's silence was all the confirmation she needed.
Her Sharingan ignited, blood-red and blazing. "I'm going to change." She vanished down the hallway in a blur.
Kakashi reached the Hokage's dais moments later. Hiruzen was in the middle of discussions with a tall envoy—one of the foreign delegates.
Kakashi didn't wait for courtesy.
"Lord Third," he said sharply, "there's something you need to see."
Hiruzen turned slowly, brow raised in question.
And then he saw the cat.
In that moment, his expression cracked—cold calculation giving way to alarm.
The man standing beside him, cloaked in regal robes, also turned—
Shinudarou's clone.
His reaction was even sharper. His lips tightened. His eyes narrowed. He tensed.
Kakashi noticed.
Why would an envoy care so much about a cat?
The realization struck him like a kunai.
They know.
They were involved.
In one swift motion, Kakashi grabbed the Hokage and shoved him back.
"Lord Shirou," Kakashi said coldly, "would you care to explain what's happening with our Jinchūriki?"
Silence.
Every eye turned.
The musicians froze. The nobles stopped smiling. And then—
ANBU flooded the hall.
Summoned by Shisui and Itachi's silent message, they dropped from the ceiling and emerged from the shadows, surrounding the envoys with precision. No one had time to move. The game was over.
Shinudarou's clone straightened slowly.
"Well," he said with a bitter smile, "I had hoped to enjoy this party longer... but it seems our curtain call has come."
Twenty envoys pulled back their robes in unison.
Seals.
Dozens of them.
Each laced with explosive tags, each ready to detonate.
Gasps filled the air. Panic broke like thunder.
"Evacuate!" Hiruzen shouted.
But it was too late.
BOOM.
The explosion rocked the mansion—blinding light, walls buckling. A wave of fire surged outward, but before it could consume the hall, massive earth walls rose from the ground.
ANBU had reacted with perfect timing, shielding the crowd with layered earth-style jutsu. The force still shook the foundation, but the damage was contained.
The celebration was gone.
The illusion of peace—shattered.
Cough! Cough!
Smoke lingered in the air like a dying breath, thick and heavy. The scent of scorched wood, burnt silk, and blood clung to every corner of the once-glorious celebration hall.
Meow!
Snow stirred in Kakashi's arms, her body trembling with every aftershock of the explosion. Her golden eyes were wide, her small chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Lord Third…" Kakashi rasped, shielding the kitten instinctively as he crouched beside the old Hokage. "Are you alright?"
Hiruzen coughed once more and waved the dust from his face. His robes were torn, soot clinging to the edges. The wrinkles of age had deepened in an instant.
"I'm… cough… I'm fine," he replied, his voice rough with smoke. Then his eyes locked with Kakashi's—sharp despite the chaos. "But tell me, Kakashi—what's going on with Menma?"
Kakashi exhaled slowly, tension still coiled in his spine. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "But Snow entered the party alone… like this."
He gestured to the small, shaking creature in his arms. "And that, Lord Third, is all I needed to know. We're already too late."
The Hokage's face darkened, the gravity of the moment sinking into his bones. Slowly, he stood, surveying the wreckage of the room—once filled with music and joy, now a tomb of silence and ash.
He gave a solemn nod.
"Go."
Kakashi didn't hesitate.
With a swift motion, he tore open the outer layer of his formal attire, revealing the black combat gear hidden beneath. He burst through the broken doors of the mansion into the rain-soaked streets, where the ANBU had already begun assembling.
Yoruusagi was waiting. Her eyes—still glowing faintly red with her Sharingan—immediately locked onto him.
"We move now," she said, her voice tense. "If Menma isn't with Snow... something's gone wrong. Horribly wrong."
Kakashi nodded grimly.
Another figure stepped forward from the shadows—an unexpected one.
Jiraiya.
The Toad Sage's usually relaxed demeanor was replaced by a focused, dangerous intensity. "We have to find him," he said. "If he's out there alone… if anything's happened—"
"No," Yoruusagi cut in. "We already know something happened."
She handed Kakashi his gear bag, then took Snow gently into her own arms.
Snow mewled weakly but didn't resist. Her golden eyes shimmered with both hope and dread, flicking back and forth across the faces of the adults around her.
She wanted to run.
To sprint to her boy.
But she couldn't find him.
The scent was faint now—almost gone.
The rain had erased everything.
---